


Red

by Emmagdilemma



Category: Original Work
Genre: WWII, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 05:14:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16612589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmagdilemma/pseuds/Emmagdilemma
Summary: This is an original story about a generation drafted to fight in a war they didn't deserve.Oliver is a charismatic young man with moxie, but will he come out of the other side of this godforsaken war changed?How does one remain themselves in the face of so much violence? How do you keep hold of who you are when you're face to face with evil?





	1. Gone with the draft

**Author's Note:**

> This is an original story I wrote for an English class and as such, I had to keep it PG. Perhaps one day I'll take the time to re-write it with all the lewd banter and foul language I imagined the characters having, but In the meantime, feel free to imagine it. I think that Bootcamp barracks would be far less civil than how I've written them.

Everything was red. The lips of every girl kissing her man goodbye, the tear-stained eyes of every child watching their father leave, Hell, even the bus was red. As I stood on the sidewalk, I started to understand how a pickle must feel crammed into a too-small jar with other pickles bobbing all around him. 

"Oliver!", The exclamation was sharp and sudden. 

"Oliver, Didn't you hear me?" Squeaked my youngest brother Max. Max has always been a bit withdrawn, but lately, he seems to have isolated himself off from us. I think he's starting to realize that If this war doesn't end soon, He'll be drafted next. 

I swiveled my head back towards my family, breaking my gaze from a couple who were standing by a stop sign; they seemed unusually cold towards each other as if their goodbyes were obligatory rather than voluntary. 

"No, sorry Max. I must have missed it." I said as I looked into his green eyes. they were a bit blotchy and watery. Max opened his mouth to repeat himself but before he could, Lucy, the baby of the family, cut in. "He said, That you promised you would write to us," Lucy said with a mixture of annoyance and eagerness. "Then again, Will Promised he'd write every week and we haven't heard from him in over a month," Lucy mumbled disappointedly. 

"He's fine Lou," I tried to sound as reassuring as I could muster, "I'm sure the letters are just taking a while to get here, They've got to come all the way from Europe.". This seemed to have provided her a little bit of comfort. My mother, however, grimaced at my words. 

I'm the third man she's sent off. So far, she hasn't welcomed any back home. My mother's first husband died during The Great War. Actually, We're not sure what happened to him. He went Missing In Action. I suppose he could be living under a borrowed name somewhere having forgotten all about the wife and son he left behind. It's kinder to assume that he died. 

My half brother, Will, once told me that he hopes his father died on that battlefield. I suppose It's easier to justify abandonment with death rather than by choice. From what I've heard though, Connor Dawes wasn't a particularly kind man nor a good husband. Poor Anne was widowed with a child and a dead husbands gambling debt. She married my father in ‘24 and a year later, I was born, followed by Maxwell and then Lucy. When Lucy was 4, my father died of a heart attack. Keeled over in the library, and took the Russian Literature section down with him. Ever since, Will and I have been the men of the house. I guess now it's Max's turn. 

My mother reached up with a trembling hand, she brushed a curl from my forehead and tucked it behind my ear before tenderly placing her hand against my cheek. A single tear fell from her tired eyes and cascaded down the side of her rouged cheek. 

"Oh Oliver, come home…" She breathed with a strangled sob. 

"I will Ma, promise," I whispered back before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her cheek. I lingered for a moment to inhale the mineral infused scent of her face powder and the floral undertones of her perfume. "I love you," I whispered to her before pulling away. 

Max was next. He stood there trying to wipe his eyes before anyone could notice how wet they had become. I tousled his sandy blonde hair which was uncharacteristically well received.

"Be good, Kid," I said before pulling him against my chest for a few beats longer than a casual hug should last.

"Five Minutes! The Busses will be leavin'' for basic trainin' In five minutes." said a portly man wearing a vest and a cap. His voice reminded me of a ferry's fog horn, that is, If a ferry's foghorn had a southern drawl. I assumed this was the bus driver. 

Lucy latched her surprisingly strong arms around my waist and buried her freckled cheek against me. "You can't leave!" She sobbed.

I held one hand against her back and lifted her chin up towards me with the other. "I'll be back Luce. I promise." I cooed. 

"You don't know that!" Lucy grunted. 

"Lou, I've got no choice. I have to go." I said. My shirt was now wet with her tears. 

"No, you don't! We could move. We could run away." she wailed as tears continued to pour down her face. 

"Three Minutes! Take your seats! Busses will be leavin' in three minutes" The bus driver blared. 

"Lucy. Come here. He has to go, sweetie." Said Ma, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"No! He can't! I can't let you die, Oliver!" Lucy screamed as her arms tightened and she buried her face once more against my chest.

"Lou, Please," I said. My throat started to hurt and my cheeks were burning. 

"No!" she continued.

Max tried to pull her away but she wouldn't budge. Years of climbing the old oak tree in our backyard had made her deceptively strong. 

"Final boardin' call for men headed to basic trainin'! The busses are leavin'!"

"No! No! No! Oliver!" She continued bawling.

"Lucy!" I barked. The name felt foreign on my lips. She was always Lou. My Lou. 

Lucy stared up at me in shock. Her eyes were steadily leaking and her nose was running. She looked at me as if I had betrayed her. 

As I pried her arms from around me, I paused for a moment and looked into her irritated eyes. They were the eyes I wiped tears from when she scraped her knee on the sidewalk. They were the eyes I took to see films at the theatre. I loved those eyes, and they were staring back at me so full of pain and anger. I wanted to tell her that if I had a say in all this, I would never dream of leaving her. I wanted to tell her that I was scared too and that I wished I could stay. I wanted to tell her that I didn't ask to fight in another man's war. I wanted to tell her so much, but I just couldn't. 

I looked up at my mother and brother. They nodded to me with a solemn dip of their heads. I turned toward the bus and threw my rucksack over my shoulder as I walked through the thinning crowd toward the driver. I handed him my papers and he smiled a weak smile at me. "I know son," he mumbled in a sympathetic tone. 

I climbed aboard the bus and made my way down the narrow aisle. As I passed the windows, I saw Ma holding Lucy against her and Max putting his arm around Ma. On either side of the aisle, sat boys and men like me. We avoided eye contact. I sat three rows from the very back, against the window. 

The bus hummed to life and with a high pitched squeak and a lurch, we began to move. 

"Oliver!" I heard a familiar voice scream after me. 

I looked back and saw that Lucy was running alongside the bus. I turned my head forward. 

"Oliver!" She yelled at me once more. 

My throat was tightening and my eyes were burning. 

"Oliver! Please!" Lucy pleaded. She was starting to fall behind, She couldn't keep up. 

"Oliver! I love you!" she was staring at me, hoping I would acknowledge her. She was trying desperately to keep up. 

I continued to look forward as she slowly fell back until she was no longer visible. 

Tears were spilling down my cheeks and my throat felt as if there was a knot stuck inside of it every time I swallowed. 

We sat, listening to the hum of the bus's engine and the velvety rasp of Bing Crosby playing on the radio. occasionally, someone would let out a choked sob but we did our best to ignore it. No one talked.


	2. Who The Hell Is Karl?

By the time the bus finally crept to a stop, we had been driving for a few hours, or so it felt. One by one, we raised our heads towards the windows to try and see our surroundings through the inky darkness that engulfed us. 

"Alright Boys, This is where I leave ya' " said the bus driver. For some reason, he didn't seem as confused and lost as the rest of us, I suppose he's driven many busloads of boys like us off to be fitted for war. 

Row by row, the men in the benches before mine would stand, grab their bags, and file down the aisle in the center of the bus. I watched as the newly vacant benches became closer and closer to where I sat, then it was my turn. I turned to the window, grabbed my rucksack, threw it over my shoulder, and started to make my way down the aisle. I stopped at the front of the bus so that I was facing the stout bus driver. I glanced down quickly and examined the name tag pinned to his chest. 

"Excuse me, Karl… I mean, sir, where are we supposed to go?" I asked, Unsure of whether Karl appreciated me using his name so casually.

"Someone will be' out shortly ta' tell Y'all where ta' go," Karl explained quickly before ushering me off the bus where I waited beside my bus mates who, thankfully, looked as equally confused as I was. 

Once the last man stepped off the bus and made his way towards us, Karl pulled the doors shut and drove off with a final squeak and a lurch. We all turned and watched as the red bus grew smaller and smaller against the dark horizon. 

"Now what?" said a short boy whose black hair was so loaded with Brylcreem, that I was shocked it hadn't solidified in the cold night air. 

A few of the other men mumbled in agreement with the short boy. I realized that no one had  
told any of us what came next. "Karl.." my voice cracked and I repeated myself, "Karl said that someone would come and tell us what to do". 

"Who the hell is Karl?" I heard a voice say amongst the din of the men talking amongst themselves. 

"Karl was the name of the bus driver." Shouted a boy standing next to me. He looked to be more Giant than Man. His rucksack was dwarfed against his broad shoulders. 

"You really think that hillbilly knows what's going on?" Yelled another voice on the opposite side of the crowd. Once again, A loud din of conversation broke out across the gaggle of freshly enlisted men. 

"Aye! Listen up!" Shouted a piercing voice suddenly.

The crowd murmured before quickly falling silent. We all turned to the right where a man stood in green pants and a bright white cotton tank top. I noticed that he had not been on the bus with us. He looked remarkably average, I thought to myself. His brown hair was tucked back neatly and his face looked like a generic model that you might see on an anatomical chart. 

"My name Is James Shaw but you'll call me Corporal Shaw. Welcome to Basic training, boys! It's almost 2 A.M, now, Seeing as how you'll be back here at 6, I suppose we oughta get you to your bunks. Follow me." Said James before turning, and walking towards a long building at the end of a row of identical long buildings. 

We followed him up the steps and into the dimly lit building. It looked like a summer camp cabin, but less kid-friendly. There were two rows of bunk beds against either wall and a bathroom at the end. 

"Right. Now, Pick a bunk and tuck in. Better get your beauty sleep because you've all got a date with the colonel in the morning. Lights out in 10." The Corporal said before turning and going back out through the door. 

We stood for a moment unsure of who would make the first move, finally, a tall man who looked to be in his mid-twenties, walked up to the first bunk and set his bag down on the bottom bed. 

Slowly, the group started to disperse to various bunks on either side of the room. I walked to the third bunk from the end on the left side, There was a big eleven painted on it in chipped white paint. 

The tall, broad-shouldered boy who had been next to me after we got off the bus also chose bunk eleven. 

"Uh, top or bottom?" I asked him before I could really take a moment and imagine what it would feel like to sleep underneath a goliath such as him supported solely by these rickety old bunk beds.   
He smiled a toothy smile and cocked an eyebrow at me, "You're joking right?" He chuckled. 

"Oh, I...Uh.." I laughed along despite being a bit flustered. He threw his bag down on the bottom bed and thrust out his strong hand to me, "Name's Dean Little" he said.

"Seriously? Your name's really Little?" I said in shock as I shook his abnormally gigantic hand. 

"Ironic In'it?" Said Dean shaking his head. Apart from his enormous physique, Dean didn't strike me as a soldier. As far as I could tell, Dean seemed as harmless as a fly. But I suppose a 6'8 fly with a gun would still be positively terrifying. 

"Oh uh, I'm Oliver by the way, Oliver Telling. And I guess, I'm your new bunkmate." I said as I placed my bag on top of the chest at the foot of our bunk. This was, I presumed, supposed to house my belongings for the next few months. 

"It's a pleasure to meet ya' Oliver," Dean said as he sat down on his bed and started unlacing his shoes. 

I rummaged through my bag and pulled out a fresh undershirt to sleep in as well as my toothbrush and a tin tube of toothpaste. I placed my things on the top bunk and climbed back down to take off my trousers and shoes. 

"So, Dean, What do you do?" I asked him as I started to unbutton my shirt.

"Before I was drafted? I helped my father in his shop. Hauling sacks of flour back and forth, restocking the ice box. That sorta thing. Y'know, Big catholic family. My Pop was always putting us to work. How ‘bout you? What'd you do?" Dean said as he started to shuffle his belongings out from his bag and into the steamer trunk under his bed.

"Oh, I worked in a bookstore. I was in charge of organizing books and manning the register. It was a swell job actually. We'd be pretty slow in the afternoon so I'd get to read and draw while we waited for business to pick up." I said, thinking about how I had never realized until then how much I enjoyed working for Mr.Dunlop. I suppose you don't truly appreciate something until it's gone.

"So, You're an artist then?" Dean said to me as he took off his trousers and climbed into his bed. 

"Uh, Yeah. I suppose. I mean, I'm no Davinci, but I like to sketch. My Brother Will sent me some Watercolors from France." I said before I started to think about how much I missed being able to sit out against Lucy's oak tree and paint the wildflowers that grew up on the hill outside our kitchen window back home. 

"I don't have a single artistic bone in my body! unless you count setting up window displays." Dean said with a chuckle. 

Before I could respond, The lights suddenly went dark and all around us, you could hear people shuffling into bed.

"Good Night Dean," I said while climbing up the ladder at the end of the bunks and onto my lumpy bed. 

"Night, Oliver" Dean whispered.


	3. A Family Matter

\------

"Rise and shine boys!" Bellowed a throaty voice.

I shot up in my bed and turned my head towards the door where a sturdy and intimidating man stood. 

He had salt and pepper hair and a strong face. His brow seemed to be permanently furrowed and underneath were two brown eyes that had started to yellow with age. 

"I ain't your mother waking you up for school! Get your sorry selves out of those beds!" The man commanded as he made his way down the aisle. 

The men were scurrying to the end of their beds. This was a much easier feat for the lucky souls that got the bottom bunk. At least 3 boys fell on the way down, luckily, I wasn't one of them.

"Well, Good morning sleeping beauties! I Am Colonel Darcy and you all have the blessing to have gotten me as your drill Sergeant! " Shouted the man. 

The Colonel reached the end of the barrack before stopping for a beat, turning back, and continuing up the middle of the long room. 

"On behalf of The United States Army I would like to welcome you to the family, And as such, I'm here to prepare you for the family business. Do any of you know what that business is?" The Colonel quizzed as he marched back and forth up the center aisle. 

Unsurprisingly, No one dared answer. 

"You! Tiny," Said the colonel to the boy from last night who's grease saturated hair was now limp and hanging droopily from the sheer weight of product combined with fitful sleeping. "Do you know what the family business is?" The colonel shouted.

The boy paused for a second before answering, "Uh, War sir?" He said. 

"What's your name Tiny?" The Colonel shouted.

"Mike Abbott. Sir." Said the greasy haired boy.

"Well Abbot, I'm gonna call you Tiny. Not only because you seem to be vertically challenged, But because you must certainly have to have an astoundingly tiny brain to have thought up that underwhelming answer." growled The Colonel.

The Colonel Turned to Mikes bunkmate; A very young boy with hair so pale blonde it almost looked white. He had a large scar on the bottom of his chin and a very faint almost healed black eye. 

"Well, Just look at you! It seems the Gerber Baby is off to save the world! I feel reassured, Do Y'all feel reassured?" The colonel asked rhetorically. 

"Okay then Baby Face, What's the Family Business?" The Colonel asked the boy.

"Revenge. Sir." Said the young boy pointedly.

The Colonel seemed impressed for a fraction of a moment before continuing "Someone get Baby Face a cookie! Revenge is right! Now, I don't know about you sorry lot, But when bombs were dropped on our home, It became personal for me. We're not just going to war boys, We're defending the honor of every Man, Woman, And child who calls this country home. We're going to march across Europe and plague those fascist bastards with good ole' American perseverance until their drowning in that glorious red white and blue" 

I understood then that I was a part of something so much bigger than myself. And that no matter the outcome, This war was going to swallow me whole. 

"Now Boys, Day one. Y'all have some running to do. You Have 5 minutes to get yourself dressed and your bunks made. I highly advise you not to be late." Said the Sergeant as he walked towards the door.

Unsure of whether we were supposed to stay at attention or not, nobody dared move.

"Well, What are Y'all waiting for? Let's Go!" Bellowed the Sergeant before slamming the door behind him. 

All of a sudden, The room broke out in chaos. Men were running around in a mad dash trying to wriggle into their standard issue trousers while others were fluttering the coarse wool blankets across their bed in an effort to straighten it out. 

This was going to be a long day...


	4. Every Prisoner Needs a Gang

Everything hurt. I had spent the day under the sun, in the mud, and around people whose job is to turn me into a tool of death and destruction. I felt as if I had been twisted and hammered into becoming the Grim Reaper's scythe.

"Hey, Oliver right?" called a red-headed boy after me as I walked towards my bunk at the back of the barracks. I nodded to him to confirm his question. It seemed a bit redundant considering my chest had "O. Telling" stitched onto the front in dark black lettering, yet, I still nodded. He was sitting on bunk number eight. Around him sat Mike Abbott and his bunkmate as well as another dark-haired man that I recognized from before we loaded the busses. I had seen him with a woman but I remember thinking that something looked ingenuine about their goodbye. Although curiosity ran rampant in my mind wondering who the woman was and why they seemed so unusually distant during what could be the last time they ever would see each other, I had the good sense to understand that wasn't the kind of thing you ask a perfect stranger upon first meeting. 

I walked closer to the bunk and noticed they had cards in their hands and cash on the table. If I were a betting man, I would've guessed they were gambling. The thing is, I am a betting man, and they were in fact gambling. Pay up. 

"Wanna join?" Said the redhead. He wasn't wearing his shirt with the name stitched to the front but I think It started with an "H". Henry? Harry? Harrison maybe? It's an awfully awkward situation when you can't remember someone's name but they know yours. 

"Uh, Yeah. Sure." I said.

I was tired and there were muscles aching in my body that I didn't even know could ache. But there was cash on the table and I had read every book about poker that was in the library. What could go wrong?

I sat down next to the redhead. Across from me was Mike and the black-haired man and to my left was Mike's bunkmate. He seemed even younger up close. 

"Uh, So This Is Mike, Aiden, And Sam." Said the red-headed boy as each owner nodded in time with their corresponding name. 

Sam was shuffling the cards between his hands with a satisfying rushing sound. 

Aiden was passing around a flask filled with whiskey. Or maybe it was scotch? To Be honest, I've never really been able to distinguish the two. To this day, I'm still unsure of whether there even is a difference. 

All I knew was that it was amber and it warmed the back of my throat in a way that almost reminded me of a hug. I started to understand why soldiers came home from war with a newfound reliance on this potent liquid. It filled a void that being around so much death and violence would no doubt form in a man, Especially when he was torn from his family and shipped to a distant battlefield. 

Everyone took a sip except Sam. I couldn't blame him, I wouldn't have been able to stand the bitter taste at his age either. 

"So, Oliver. You Okay with some stakes added to the game?" Said Aiden nodding to the pile of cash in the middle of the steamer chest we were using for a card table. 

"Maybe we should hold off on the money for a bit boys." said the redhead. 

"Aw c'mon Hayden! Oliver's a big boy! He can handle himself with a little game of cards!" Mike said with a chuckle. 

Hayden! That's it! The redhead's name was Hayden, I thought to myself. I was relieved that the problem had figured itself out before I had an opportunity to embarrass myself.

"I'm more worried about what's gonna happen when I take all your money fellas!" I taunted. 

The cards were dealt.

The stakes were high and the pile kept growing.

I was confident I could win this. Or, at least I was confident in the whiskeys assurance that I could win this. 

Finally, It was my turn. 

"Got any spades?" I said, Knowing that Aiden's answer could make or break my chances of winning.

He paused for a minute as if to taunt me, before spitting the words at me; "...Go ….Fish."

And just as easily as I had placed my bet, I lost it. 

Whiskey was wrong. And I had the empty wallet to prove it.   
We played round after round until, halfway through our eighth or so game, The lights went out and we were forced to shuffle back to our beds in the dark. In the end, young Sam ended up winning twenty-three dollars and half a carton of Lucky Strikes.

I may not have walked away with cash, But I left that bunk with four more friends than when I had arrived. Throughout the many rounds of Go Fish, I learned things about them that I would never have gotten to know if it wasn't for Hayden's invitation. 

As I strolled back to my bed, a bit un-gracefully I might add, I formed a sort of profile of my newfound friends in my whiskey muddled mind.

First, There was Hayden Page; He was tall and lanky and had a hummingbird tattoo on his left arm. Why? He didn't say. Hayden was from a city a couple hundred miles outside of Chicago. His family was poor as poor could be and he worked as a mechanic in order to support them. He was kind and generous. Hayden was 18. The Same as me.

Next, was Mike Abbott, There was more to Mike than a deep fondness for Brylcreem. Mike had 5 Brothers and 1 sister. His mother died while giving birth to his youngest brother Vinny. His father worked in a pencil factory in a small town called Oak Ridge. Mike had been studying to be a marine biologist for 3 years, but he dropped out halfway through his third semester because he couldn't afford to pay tuition. He was drafted two months later. 

Aiden Mackenzie. Tall. Dark. Mysterious. There wasn't much about Aiden that I knew. He was an orphan, He worked in a lumber yard, and he had a girl, but ended it before he left because she wanted to marry but, as he said; " What's the point in making it official only to have her widowed a year later?". And though his outlook seemed morbid, I can't say I didn't understand it. Despite Aidens realism though, He was one of the funniest men I had ever met. He was sardonic and quick with a comeback. His tongue was half as sharp as his wit and both would slice you if given the chance. 

Last was Sam Keeney; Sam's story was a grim one. And though he'd hate it, I pitted him. Sam was 16. The Minimum age for enlisting. His father was a nasty alcoholic with a penchant for taking his anger out on his family. Sam frequently provoked his father in an effort to deflect his anger away from His mother and little sister. When Sam turned 16, His father enlisted him. Because he'd "Be damned if a son of his was going to sit at home while our great country was under attack". The day before he arrived at basic training, Sam bought a one-way train ticket for his mother and sister and gave them the entire three hundred and eighty-five dollars and seventy-three cents that he had managed to save from his paper route. Sam never told us the extent of his father's abuse, but between the scars and bruises, we knew. Out of all the Men who had ended up in this room, Sam was the only one who arrived already a warrior. 

Once I reached my bunk, I kicked off my boots, Shed my trousers and made my way up the ladder to my bed. Dean was already fast asleep below me and his hearty snores were practically shaking the rickety bed. 

I burrowed under the woolen blanket and laid there in the blackness of the room. That's the hardest time, when It's dark and everyone is left to the solitary confinement of their own mind. It's not uncommon to hear a chorus of stifled sobs and sniffles. 

Despite the warmth that spread through my body, and the blur that ebbed in my mind (Courtesy of my dear Friend Jameson), when It's just you and the darkness, you think. I can't help but think about my family. About my last conversation with Lucy. I ignored her. All she wanted in the world was to be acknowledged and I couldn't even bring myself to do that. A tear leaked out from my closed eyes and rolled down the side of my blushed cheek and onto my pillow. I think about Will. Stuck In a trench somewhere in Europe. Scared, Cold, dead? Lastly, I think about me. I'm the one in the trench. I'm the one who's scared and cold. I'm the one who's dead.


	5. D-Day

It was June 6th, 1944. A little over a year since my first day of Basic Training. I'd give anything to go back to those few months. They were hard, But this was harder. 

The waves crashed against the cold metal sides of the square-shaped boat in a rhythmic manner, as if echoing the fluttering heartbeats of the men inside. 

We were standing shoulder to shoulder as the rain pounded down on, and around us. A layer of salt had coated our faces from the sea spray coming over the edge. A boy next to me, who looked to be about my age, suddenly, dropped down and vomited onto his boots. I reluctantly offered him my canteen. He rinsed his mouth with the water and spat it back out onto the deck of the boat. 

In the far off distance was our destination, It was grim, to say the least. 

A Beach; So often a symbol of tranquility and escapism, now the setting upon which humanities worst attributes were on full display. 

The sand was littered with bodies and debris. Clear patches were few and far between. 

I had always wanted to go to France. Some of the most brilliant artists were French. I always wanted to go to France, But not like this. 

 

As we got closer, bodies were floating in the water, being pushed and pulled by the sea. The smell of vomit that was clinging to the boat was steadily replaced by the smell of war. It's a smell so pungent that I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it. It's sea and sand, But it's also gunpowder and death. It's the corpses of 2,000 men laying on a battle-torn beach. 

We knew the reality of war, but we had never actually seen it first hand like this. The books don't tell you about the smell and the taste. Nothing can prepare you for it. 

Mike, Who was standing next to me, gasped out an expletive containing the name of a certain crucified deity upon seeing it. 

As the boat drifted closer to the beach my heart started to race and my hands, which were wrapped around the body of my rifle, were sweating. 

Aiden, who was directly behind me, was humming a familiar melody. Normally, I'm sure it'd be beautiful and comforting, But against the cold, unfeeling demeanor of the land before us, it only seemed dark and haunting. 

The wind whistled overhead and it chilled us to the bone. Between the vomit, wind, and sea spray, we were thoroughly uncomfortable. But, leaving the boat would in no way relieve that feeling of discomfort, only amplify it. 

We could hear the hull of the boat start to scrape against the floor of the sea. There was no turning back. The only way off this boat was onto a battlefield. The door at the front of the boat had been lowered, but before we could run off, Bullets ripped through the mass of men waiting to pile out. The sound was deafening. Bullets tinged against metal as they tore through flesh and steel. We were fish in a barrel, and the only way out was over. 

The sounds of screams and splashes filled the cool air. Mike was the first one out, followed by Aiden and then Sam. Sam was in front of me. I pushed him over the edge of the bullet ravaged boat before plummeting in after him. 

Under the water, it was cool and tranquil. I had to stand on the tips of my boots in order to hold my pack out of the water. 

Hayden pencil dived down a few feet away from me. We made it out. But not without a fight. Bullets dived through the water like birds fishing for prey. Though a few of us surfaced, I didn't dare. 

I looked back and red bloomed out from Hayden's torso. I was reminded of all the times I watched the pigments of my watercolors bleed out into beads of water, claiming them as their own. I Could do nothing but watch as the last bubbles of oxygen floated up from Hayden's lips and to the surface. I wish death was peaceful. I wish everyone closed their eyes as if they were asleep, Instead, I watched as Hayden's open eyes processed the end. They slowly grew cold and lifeless. He was gone. And I watched.   
I was soon enveloped in the red water that was surrounding the corpse of my friend. My chest was tight. Whether from the emotions tearing through me or from the lack of oxygen, I couldn't' tell. Either way, I knew I had to surface. 

As I broke the watery barrier that separated me from the unforgiving reality above I gasped in my first breath since the boat. 

Two long broad arms reached down and pulled me up to his side. Dean had laced my arm over his shoulder and was dragging me up onto the shore. 

Once we were far enough, Dean and I joined Aiden, Sam, and Max who were crouching behind a sandbag berm.

"Where's Hayden?" Aiden yelled over the sound of gunfire and screams. 

"He…." How did I tell them? How did I tell them that the kindest, friendliest, and most generous man in our band of brothers was now floating face up in the sea? How did I tell them that the bullets tore through him before he even had a chance to resurface? How did I tell them that he died alone and scared, thousands of miles away from home in a cold and violent sea? "He's gone." I finally said. 

Their faces told me that they understood without having to say a word. Between the furrowed brows and the heavy eyes, We all carried the weight of our fallen friend on our backs. 

"Right, Well. We've gotta keep moving." Declared Aiden as he reached up to adjust his helmet. 

Sam and Mike were removing the rain covers from their packs and filling their pockets with extra ammunition. I did the same. 

"If we can get to the next berm, We may be able to make it up to the Trench. We'll be out of view of the snipers." Said, Mike, as he peaked out over the berm to analyze the closest point of coverage.

"Okay, Yeah. On the count of three. One...Two…" But before Aiden could say "Three", there was a loud clang followed by Mike toppling backward. 

There was a jagged hole in the left side of Mikes helmet and his eyes were staring up at the sky emptily. 

"Mike!" Sam screamed as he dragged Mikes head into his lap, giving no thought to the blood that was spilling from mikes forehead and onto his uniform. 

Dean had gone pale and his eyes were wide. He was in shock. We all were.   
Bullets flew through the air above us, Whistling as they soared past. 

"We have to go!" Aiden screamed, trying to drown out the din of destruction around him. 

Sam nodded in acknowledgment and gingerly laid Mikes head back onto the sand, He closed his empty eyes and wiped the blood from his cheek. 

Aiden was the first one to move, But before he did so, He looked back at Mike one last time.

Sam was in front of me and Dean was behind. We were running as fast as we could toward the next berm. As I ran, I looked around at the bodies of boys and men that would collapse onto the battle-torn beach like a marionette whose strings had been cut. 

The sound of waves crashing on the beach was now gone, And replaced was the intensifying hum of planes soaring overhead, Mowing down men with a steady barrage of bullets. 

We were only a few feet from the berm now. Aiden reached it first, Then Sam, And then I was closing in on it. Without thinking, I dropped down and slid across the ground like a baseball player until I reached "Safety".

Dean was the last one to crouch down next to us, Considering his size, this was easier said than done. 

My chest was heaving with every breath I took. I was wet and covered in sand and grit. Sam, however, was covered in Mike's blood. 

"I can see a nest from here," Dean said with a vengeful tone that seemed so out of place in a gentle giant such as himself. 

"I got it," said Sam as he pulled his rifle off of his back and rested the barrel of it atop the sandbags that we were crouched behind.

Sam, though young, was undeniably the best marksmen of us all. 

He placed his cheek against the cool body of the gun and took aim. 

Click, Boom. "Eins". 

Sam reloaded a bullet into the chamber of the gun. 

Click, Boom."Zwei".

Aiden handed him another bullet.   
Click, Boom. "Drei".

The pattern repeated itself. Aiden handed Sam Bullets, Sam delivered them to the target with a finality pronounced in their own tongue. 

"Acht" Sam breathed out, But before he could reach "neun",

A terrible mechanical scream filled the air as a dive bomber swooped over the beach, Attacking anything in its path with a steady stream of bullets. 

I tucked my head down and made myself as small of a target as I could. 1...2...3...4...5...6...7… I started to count until it's shrill scream of destruction had passed. 

By the time I had gotten to 13, the sound had grown dim and distant. I looked to my left and Aiden and Sam had sat back up and were brushing sand from their coats. They Looked to me and then past me to Dean. Something was wrong. I could see it in their eyes. I turned my head towards where Dean was leaning with his back against the sandbags.

His head was turned down towards his stomach where his hands were resting. Crimson seeped out from under his hands and was spreading across his torso. 

I rushed to his side, Followed by Aiden and Sam. 

"Dean! Hold on Dean…I'm here." I sounded panicked. I Was panicked. I replaced his bloodsoaked hand with my own. His lower stomach was seeping blood faster than we could try and quell it.

"Medic! We need a medic!" Sam screamed before reaching into his pack and pulling out a jumbled mass which consisted of his canteen and a small assortment of tangled bandages. 

Every soldier carried very minimal first aid supplies, But they were nowhere near capable of handling the gruesome injuries encountered in war.

Sam poured water from his canteen on top of my hands and Deans stomach. The blood was rinsed away only long enough for us to determine there was no exit wound and that the bullet had likely shredded Dean's organs beyond repair on the way in. 

Sam, Aiden, and I looked at each other knowingly. There was nothing we could do but sit and watch as another one of our friends died. 

Dean looked up at me with his gentle eyes, He was scared. He tried to talk, but only managed stutters and gasps as blood enveloped his tongue and choked his words. 

"Shh. It's okay bud. We're here." Aiden said as he patted Deans shoulder comfortingly. 

Dean continued to sputter in an effort to speak, but it only became harder and harder.

We watched as the life ebbed out of this gentle giant we called our friend. Twenty-three years of life snuffed out in a matter of minutes.

He took one final shaky breath before his arms went limp and his head fell back completely onto the sandbags he was leaning against. 

I reached up and dragged his eyelids shut across his kind brown eyes. "Thank you, Dean," I whispered. Aside from the blood that saturated his clothes, Dean looked peaceful. Almost as if he were asleep. 

I had spent months sharing a bunk with Dean. He was my friend. Even more than that though, He was as good as a brother to me. Dean, Sam, Aiden, Hayden, Mike; They were all my brothers. 

"What Now?" Sam asked us, voicing what we all were thinking but couldn't bring ourselves to speak. 

"We keep moving. It's the only way off of this god-forsaken beach." Aiden said.

I wiped my hands across my thighs, leaving smears of red across the now blood-stained fabric. 

"He's right," Sam said to me as he stuffed his canteen and bandages back into his bag and threw it onto his back. 

I followed as Aiden and Sam ran across a stretch of beach that provided no cover and nothing to hide behind. It was no man's land. We were easy targets. 

In front of me, a boy fell to his knees and crumpled like a piece of paper. To my left, a man was stumbling around without an arm. All around me, men were fighting, running, and dying. It was chaos, and I was left bearing witness to it. 

I looked up and Aiden was leading the way for Sam and I. He was firing into the distance and planning the next move. He was our leader. 

As Aiden fired into the enemy and charged forward with a fury and vengeance unlike anything I'd ever seen, he was the perfect image of what a soldier should be. 

Bang! The shot rang out. He was stopped in his tracks for only a moment before continuing his swift assault.   
Bang! Once more Aiden looked unfazed.

It wasn't until the third shot that he showed any signs of distress. By the third strike, Aiden had crumpled to the ground. 

Sam and I raced toward the spot where he lay. But we were too late. Aiden Mackenzie was shot three times. He fought through the first shot which found itself in his shoulder. The second shot was in Aiden's upper arm. And the third shot, the one that killed him, tore through his neck like it was made of paper. Even when he was dying, Aiden was one stubborn son of a gun.

Sam and I knelt over him knowing that we couldn't stay still for long. 

There were tears rolling down our faces.

Sam let out a rage-filled shriek. He was mourning the loss of all the friends we had lost in less than an hour. 

I picked up my gun And pulled Sam to his feet. Together, We charged across the beach fueled by vengeance and hatred. I felt the heat of fury ripping through my body like a wildfire. I hated them. I hated them for starting a war and for killing my friends. I had never before felt such darkness dwell inside me. I wanted to kill. And that's what I did. 

I fired at the enemy, feeling nothing but hatred and loathing towards them. It was their fault that I was stuck on a beach in a foreign country covered in the blood of men I called brothers. It was their fault my family was sitting at home unsure of whether they would bury me soon or not. It was their fault I had to leave Lucy. It was all their fault. 

Whoever said that love is worth fighting for clearly understood just how much love you have to feel in order to be able to hate so fiercely as I did at that moment. 

Sam and I found ourselves ducking behind a large piece of Iron shaped like an "X". 

"Here!" Sam shouted as he passed me a handful of bullets. 

I reached over to the corpse of a blonde boy laying close by and started to unbuckle his helmet. It was dented on one side, but otherwise fine.

I flipped the helmet over and dropped the ammunition into it. Sam did the same with another handful of shiny golden bullets. 

Together, we loaded our guns and took aim. One by one, We sought out our next target and fired. I paused for a moment and watched as Sam brushed dirt from his eyes and reloaded his gun. Sam reminded me of my brother, Max. They were the same age. Sam was only here because he had a cruel father and this was his best chance out. If it weren't for this war, Sam would be stuck at home for another two years at least. 

"Oliver, Watch out!" Sam screamed as he pointed towards a small black object that came plummeting down towards us. 

It landed with a thud a few feet ahead of where we were crouched, But before we could dispose of the explosive, There was a sudden flash and an invisible pressure pressed through my body.


	6. Runs Red

I woke up on my back, Gasping for breath. I felt as if I had been dropped and all the air had been knocked out of me. My ears were ringing. The world sounded like a teapot, Whistling furiously.

I looked around, The world was bright and blurry. Men were running around faster than my shocked eyes could follow. 

Sam, Who was laying a few feet next to me, had a jagged piece of metal protruding from his upper thigh which was bent outward and spurting blood. 

I Pushed myself up with my hands and stumbled over to Sam.

I leaned over his leg and inspected the metal. Even if I could remove the shrapnel, There was no way I would be able to save Sam before he bled out. I placed my hands on his leg and tried to stop the bleeding.

Sam's pale blue eyes were staring up at the sky. And drops of water started to fall on his face. 

"Always liked rain," Sam said calmly, oblivious to just how dire his situation was, "Makes everything new again. Washes away the ugly."

"You're gonna be okay Sam! I'll take care of you" I yelled as I wrapped Gauze tightly around Sam's leg.

"I always thought it smelled nice. Don't you Oliver?" Sam inhaled a deep breath. All I could smell was gunpowder. 

"Oliver." The directness of Sam's exclamation distracted me from my fussing over his makeshift tourniquet. 

"What'd you say, Sam?" I said, taken aback. 

"Do you like the smell of rain?" Sam whispered as he stared up at the dark clouds curiously.

"Yeah, Sam. I do. It's My sister Lucy's favorite smell. She once told me it smelled better than cake." I said with a small chuckle. 

Sam smiled a small kind smile.

"Will you tell me about her? About Lucy?" Sam said as he rubbed his hands absentmindedly through the sand he was laying on. The tourniquet helped slow the blood polling from his leg, But it would not stop it. All I could do for Sam was give him a peaceful death.

"Lucy.." I started as I reached down and removed the gauze cinched around his leg, Letting the blood flow freely, "Lucy has a heart so big, It could dwarf Dean." 

Sam chuckled at my comparison despite it being a reminder that Dean was gone. 

"She has fiery red hair and more freckles on her cheeks than stars in the sky. We did everything together, I took her to her first show at the picture house and I remember teaching her to climb a tree. Y'know she used to sit in the corner of the bookshop where I worked and threw paper airplanes at me while I stocked the shelves. I would do anything for her Sam." I said as tears started to pool in my eyes. 

By now, Sam had lost a considerable amount of blood. He was starting to go pale and his eyes were becoming heavy.

"She sounds sweet." Sam said quietly, He was starting to fade "I bet her and my Daisy would be great friends."

"I bet they would," I said, though my throat was tight.

"I miss her Oliver. I miss Daisy." Sam said as he closed his eyes. 

"I know Sam, I know," I reassured him as I ran my hand over his forehead and through his pale hair. The blood pulsing from his leg was starting to slow.

"She's going to do such great things, Oliver. I Just know it." Sam whispered to me. 

"I'm sure she will Sam," I whispered back to him. Tears were streaming down my face and mixing with the rain that had started to fall on us. 

He released one final breath. 

Sam had just turned seventeen 3 weeks ago. We celebrated with a game of cards and candy bars that Hayden had smuggled in. In what world is it okay for a seventeen-year-old to have lived the life that Sam did? Throughout his life, Sam was the victim of hatred and evil, Yet somehow, he had grown into a loyal and brave man. 

Sam Keeney died on a battlefield almost a year and a half before the second world war would end. If his father hadn't enlisted him, Sam never would have been drafted. If It weren't for his father, Sam wouldn't have bled to death at the age of seventeen. 

Sam enlisted as a warrior and died as a soldier. 

As I sat next to him, I traced my finger over the scar on his face. No doubt placed there by his father. He was young, Not much older than Max. He deserved to grow old and have a family that he didn't need to fear or protect. Sam deserved so much more than what he got in his seventeen years of life. 

The sounds of war continued to rage on around me but I tuned them out. All that I could hear was the beating of my heart and the strangled sobs that I could no longer hold back.

I didn't hear the gunshot, But I felt it. 

I felt the cold metal tear through me as it made its way through my chest. I felt the beating of my heart falter as my nerves screamed in pain. I felt my hand reach up to the spot where the bullet exited. 

I saw my family. Ma, Max, Will, and Lucy; their images wandered through my mind as I felt my hands grow warm and wet.

I saw Lucy's smile and Max's smirk. 

I realized though, that my eyes were closed. 

When I finally opened my eyes, I saw a grey sky streaked with the trails of fighter planes. I saw Sam, With dirt on his face, Lying in a pool of his blood. 

I blinked. Once. Twice. My eyes were tired. 

When I looked down, at my hands; Everything was red.


End file.
